Wrong number- Marvel Edition
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Featuring: Iron-Dad, Spider-Son, and the crew
(A/N- currently no ships, but there may eventually be ships)
I sadly don't own Marvel or any of it's characters. The only thing that is mine is the plot.
My head is pounding. I feel a tingle at the base of my neck, warning me to move, but I'm just not fast enough. My head snaps back as someone's fist collides with my jaw. That's definitely gonna bruise.
This was supposed to be a simple robbery. In and out. Save the hostages, web up the bad guys. But no, of course not. Why make it easy for me?
Reality comes crashing down on me like the foot currently crushing my rib cage. Another bruise. Someone keep a tally.
Criminals in New York are getting smarter. There are at least 10 men in the bank and bigger crews are harder to take down.
I shoot a web to the ceiling and pull myself up. I fight each and every one of the idiots in the ski masks, hand to hand, until they are webbed on the floor. I stay close to the bank until the police come, but when they do, I leave quickly. They really seem to dislike me at the moment, and while they always dislike me a little bit, it's probably closer to hatred these past couple months.
I swing to the top of my favorite building, a few blocks away. It takes me a minute to feel the pain in my leg, but when I do, holy crap, the cut is deep, too deep for me on my own.
"Oh my god. When did this happen?" I know talking to yourself is considered weird, but I've never understood why. Literally everyone does it, right? Right?! "Damn it," I grab my phone out of the backpack I stored up there. I need stitches and Ned is the only one who I trust to get the job done. ——— Peterman 🕷️ DUDE i need help ———
He responds in seconds, thankfully.
——— Ned-Head Wilson 😂 How did you get this number? Who are you? ———
I groan. I know I probably woke him up, but he doesn't have to be annoying about it.
——— Peterman 🕷️ not the time ned no joke
Ned-Head Wilson 😂 I'm not Ned!! ———
Oh shit.
——— Peterman 🕷️ sorry, didn't mean to text you. ———
"Shit. Ned gave me the wrong number for his new 'man-in-the-chair'' phone. What am I supposed to do now?" I sigh heavily. This is one of the worst possible situations I could have ended up in, but these are the cards I've been dealt so it's time to make a decision and play my hand.
I decide to swing back to the home and get myself cleaned up, stitches and all. The time says 3:34 on my phone, so if I hurry I can get close to 2 hours of sleep tonight.
And that's what I do. I go back to the group home I stay at to start the nightly process of first-aid and triage on myself. Clean, stitch, bandage, count bruises for a total of 6 huge ones already formed (never mind, no tally needed). Finally, sleep. Honestly, the best part of most days is just going to sleep. Tell me I'm wrong. You can't. Goodnight.
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Tony POV-
My head is pounding. My eyes having been begging for the sweet release of sleep for hours, but I am unrelenting in my work. I just need to finish a little bit more of this new Stark-Pad prototype. Groaning, I reach for my coffee cup, only to find it empty. I sigh heavily with annoyance.
It has been weeks without a night of decent sleep. It's my own damn fault, but the nightmares that plague my dreams keep me out of bed and in my workshop until all hours of the night. Even into the early morning. Typically it's the morning.
Scratch that. It's always the morning. I don't go to sleep before midnight anymore.
I check my phone for the current time,and the phone illuminated my face and I see 2:46. Surprising right? As I go to put my phone down, I receive a text. I would normally ignore it, but at this hour in the morning, this strange text has me curious. ——— ??? DUDE i need help ———
No one is supposed to have this number besides the people I have in my contacts. How in the world did some random person 'wrong number' text me?
——— THE Tony Stark How did you get this number? Who are you?
??? not the time ned no joke ———
Who the hell is Ned? And what the hell is happening?
——— THE Tony Stark I'm not Ned!!
??? sorry, didn't mean to text you. ———
Didn't mean to text me? Me? Tony Stark? I've gotta be dreaming... or delusional. Maybe both. Either way, I need sleep to process what just happened because there's gotta be a big ass hole in my firewall for some random number to text me. I stand up and fatigue bitch smacks me across the face. It takes all the strength I have to drag myself to the elevator.
By the time I reach the common floor, shared by all the Avengers, my body has gone into autopilot. I am no longer thinking straight. I'm actually not thinking at all, so there's that too. Fuck it. I'm too tired for life.
